Into the Grey
by kalabangsilver
Summary: The doctor's perspective on Starling's awaking. Not too long after the events at the doctor's Chesapeake house.


_Into the Grey_

Hurt. Broken. Maybe more just than a little bit alone. Your world has come crashing down around you and everything you knew is suddenly false. Black is white. Good and evil no longer hold definition. Fidelity, bravery and integrity are scattered on the winds. The life you have built for yourself lies scattered on the floor where you still sit, clinging onto the debris as if it will save you.

Reality is harsh. It blinds you at first. But then, slowly, your eyes become accustomed to an unveiled view. You raise yourself from the floor and take a step closer to me. Then another. Each day, a step closer. You do not know what makes you take that step. You do not know why you seek me. Perhaps it is for the knowledge that someone shares in your misery. Reaching out for another lonely soul. If what is left of me can be called a soul, that is.

There is not a lot left. Not much at all, if you consider what a 'well-rounded' human being should encompass. I am hurt. Broken. Definitely more than just a little bit alone. My world came crashing down around me so long ago, now, that I have become accustomed to living in ruin. Shackled, chained by memories; there is not much left of me. But what is left, I offer to you.

And you accept.

You take another step towards me. Not because you are lonely, or even because you love me – though I think you do. Youf step forwards because you see yourself in my plight, you see yourself in my eyes and the tears that have fallen from them. You take that step because you want to believe that something that is broken can be healed. You want to believe that I can be healed. For if I can be healed, then you stand a chance at healing as well.

You want to believe that your love can heal me. I suppose no mortal man can profess complete knowledge of powers such as love, so perhaps it can. Perhaps my cynicism on the subject is unfounded. After all, the human heart has an amazing capacity to heal; the human soul might be the same. Maybe the broken edges of me will match the broken edges of you and, in some great cosmic puzzle we will heal together as one single being. I am quite sure I would enjoy that, being locked together in eternity with you. I'm not entirely sure yet, but I think you might enjoy it too.

I shall endeavour to keep my mind open, about you healing me. Still, I rather doubt it. Some of my hurts run too deep to ever be fully healed, even by you. But broken people can still love and be loved. There is no prerequisite of being whole, perfect, or even good. You don't understand that yet. Your idea of love is naïve; an idealised romanticism. An amalgamation, if you will, of all the clichés you have ever been told. I would like to rectify that. I believe I can, if you give me time.

I extend a hand and you take it. You step closer, right up to me, closing the gap. We are almost touching, now. Another step and we do. Touch. Your hand fits inside mine like I imagine the broken pieces of our souls fitting together.

You kiss my fingers.

I meet your eyes.

You want to know if someone can love a person such as you; if someone can look past all that you have done, all the emotional baggage that you carry? What is that saying – that one about not being able to see the wood for the trees? Little Starling, the answer is standing on front of you, holding your hand. But this togetherness it is new for you. The word 'love' is one you are not ready to hear. Best save it for later. I trace my finger along the lines of your face instead. I touch your lips and nearly shudder in pleasure as they move in a surprising admission.

"Thank you for saving me."

For saving you? All I did was to open your eyes. You saved yourself. You made your choice. You took the step all by yourself. But I do not reply. It would only belittle the tenderness in your words. You mean it rather more as a phrase of endearment than its literal connotations.

Instead, I take your hand and lead you away. Lead you away from the scattered ideals of lives willingly abandoned. I lead you from black and white into the delicate shadows of a greyscale world. We walk into a new understanding together. A new world. It is beautiful here. The detail is tenfold that which you can see in only two colours. I think you will enjoy it.

I do not know what is coming next; two days, two months, two years, a lifetime. In all honesty, I do not know. I barely know how 'this' came to be. It is not a path I envisioned for myself, nor planned, but I like the direction in which we are heading. You and I, alone but together. Skin on skin. A bit hurt, a bit broken. Each burning with forbidden desires and filled with intricate secrets, we are surrounded by the ruins of our collective lives. Between us, I think, we may have enough debris to build something together. Something new.

We walk on. Your hand in mine. Into the grey.

Maybe I am wrong. Maybe you cannot heal me and I cannot heal you. The universe is wide and unforgiving. Too many people see in black and white. I do not know where this is heading. I cannot be sure and that frightens me. You frighten me, somewhat, too. I cannot control you. You are an unknown variable to add to this life of mine. Despite your love for me, you are your own person. I can never possess you, not completely.

I know the risks of loving. I have observed them as well as you have. I hurt from losses that have happened long before you were even born. I know that, one day, you might leave me. One day, in the cold light of morning, you might turn away; eat the burning heart from my hand then throw me into the rings of hell, where once more I shall burn for you. That frightens me, much more than just a little.

But I think I will take the risk.

I think that it might be worth it, just to hold your hand.


End file.
